


A Day in Central Park

by orphan_account



Series: "Oh crap!" [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers goes to Central Park to sketch and soak up some sun. Bucky is playing soccer with Clint, who apparently has terrible aim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in Central Park

After a long and brutal winter, it was finally spring in New York City. Not the last weeks of March that are filled with grey slush and temperatures somewhere between tepid and freezing, but the kind of spring that Snow White would’ve sung about. Central Park was packed with citizens enjoying the newfound weather, from joggers to small children to the occasional bum taking a nap on a bench.

  
Steve Rogers closed his eyes, soaking in the sunshine. He couldn’t believe that he’d managed to snag such a perfect spot on today of all days. His doctor had told him that fresh spring air and sunshine would make him feel better after being cooped up all winter. The cold had been so bad he could barely go outside without having an asthma attack, or catching a cold, or nearly coming down with pneumonia. His neighbor Peggy had scolded him viciously while spooning soup into his mouth, but there had been genuine concern in her eyes, so Steve hadn’t protested too much. Truth be told, he’d enjoyed the mothering a little. It had been five years since his mother died, but he still missed her every day. His expression clouded with sorrow briefly, but he did his best to move on. Mom would’ve wanted me to enjoy today, he decided, so enjoy myself I will.

  
Shifting slightly on the blanket he’d brought, Steve propped himself up on his elbows. From his vantage point onto the grassy area below, he could see two men kicking a soccer ball back and forth, shouting and laughing at each other. Digging out his sketchbook from his messenger bag, Steve flipped through until he found an empty page. He was nearly done with this one, having filled the pages with figure and face studies. Here and there were more detailed drawings, with extra love and attention poured into them. One of his favorites was a sketch of Peggy with her head thrown back in laughter, curly auburn hair bouncing down her shoulders. She’d blushed furiously when he showed it to her, and despite her claims that Steve had drawn her prettier than she actually was, he could tell she was very flattered. He’d given her a copy as thanks for nursing him back to health, and she kept it framed on her wall.

  
Bringing himself back to the present, Steve studied the men in front of him, deciding which one to draw. The one on the left was more animated, flipping the ball into the air like it was nobody’s business, but Steve couldn’t stop himself from watching the man on the right. His hair was tied back into a ponytail, but lots of strands had escaped and were flying around his head like a scruffy halo. He moved with a litheness that the other man didn’t have, almost like he was dancing, so Steve decided to draw him. His long fingers moved quickly over the page, sketching him with a leg outstretched, ready to meet the ball. He began to add details: the red star sewn onto the sleeve of the man’s tshirt, the strands of hair flowing past his eyes, the confident smirk as he sent the other man diving for the ball…  
Steve was so thoroughly engrossed in his drawing that he never heard the shout of warning. As he looked up to study his model, the soccer ball he'd seen earlier nailed him squarely in the temple. He didn’t even have time to blink, and was unconscious immediately.

  
“Nice one, moron,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. Trust Clint to nail a shrimp like that. He jogged over to where the guy Clint had hit was lying.  
“Sorry about that,” he called, “my friend’s apparently going blind in addition to being...deaf…” He stopped in his tracks. This guy was tiny, really tiny, and he also wasn’t awake. Bucky could see a nasty bruise forming on his temple where he’d been struck, and suddenly felt sick to his stomach. They’d welly and truly knocked the poor little guy out. Fortunately, he’d already been lying down, so Bucky prayed he hadn’t done anything permanent. He squatted next to the prone figure, and gently rolled him over, passing a hand over his nose. Clint’s victim was still breathing, and deeply enough that there was probably no immediate danger. Glancing around, Bucky noticed the sketchbook the man had been drawing in. To his surprise, it was a rendition of him, playing soccer with Clint. Damn, this guy was good.  
As if he could sense Bucky’s thoughts, the young man groaned, his eyelids fluttering. He looked around, eyes slightly unfocused.

  
“Hey, slow down there pal,” Bucky said, worry in his voice. “We brained ya pretty good. It was an accident, I swear. Do you remember your name?”  
“Steve...Steve Rogers,” Steve replied, wincing. He tried to sit up, but failed. Suddenly, he felt his rescuer’s hands, warm on his back, guiding him into a sitting position.  
“Okay, Steve. I’m Bucky. Just take it easy, alright?” Maybe he was concussed, but it seemed to Steve that Bucky was even more handsome up close. He groaned again. The pain in his head was horrible. Bucky noticed this with concern, while Clint hovered uselessly behind him. Steve, noticing his assailant, furrowed his brow.

“Watch it next time, jerk,” he muttered weakly, unable to do more than glare. Clint, who had six inches and fifty pounds on Steve, chuckled.  
“I think your shrimp’s gonna be just fine, Barnes,” he said, grabbing the soccer ball that had been the root of the trouble.  
Bucky gazed at Steve, brow still wrinkled with concern. Steve smiled back dopily, still slightly foggy.  
“You know, I think you concussed him,” Bucky said accusingly. “I’m gonna take him to the hospital, just in case.” Standing up, he slung Steve’s arm over his shoulders. The smaller man had to practically tiptoe, so Bucky stooped lower.

  
“Come on Steve, let’s get you sorted.” The two walked slowly up the path, Steve grinning like mad. He could hardly wait to tell Peggy about this.


End file.
